Hot Mess Express

 

Choo Choo 🚂

All aboard, farm friends - next stop: Not exactly roses and unicorns, but still somehow magical

Possum Kingdom (formally Peace and Love Acres.....RIP to that dream) 

I think it's time to officially rename the farm to Possum Kingdom. Population me, my farm animals, and apparently every possum within a 5-mile radius.  Welcome to the barn. A possum will be with you shortly.

You remember Suzie Q, right? My original barn free-loader. She would come to visit and happily enjoy the delicious cat food in the barn (always meant for June Bug, Cricket and Kitty). This all came to a screeching halt once I caught her, caged her and took her for a ride. Did you know I offer a free express relocation service, operated by yours truly. 

Well, apparently she left a Yelp review. 

Enter Jeff aka The Audacity.

Yo a big boy

Jeff is bigger. Bolder. And frankly, ruder. This man - because yes, he gives strong middle-aged man who doesn't return his shopping cart energy - would:

* Open the cat food container lid

* Eat the cat food

* Leave the lid off like a savage

* AND "mark" the area like he pays rent

Jeff. Sir. This is not your Airbnb.

Now it's a matter of time to catch you red handed. Or should I say claw handed. Their fingers are real, yall. And catch Jeff I did, but not without the assistance of my super heros Dutch and Penny - who had him cornered in the barn so I can then perform my signature move of Shovel, Scrapper, Crate and Pray. 

Apparently, word has not gotten around in the possum community that I have a PhD in trapping and re-locating possums with barn utensils. Your family will miss you when you don't come home. Where's dad? Come to think about it, they may not miss him. 😉

It took a minute to get Jeff in the crate because he fought me hard - and Dutch and Penny lose their helping ability when I start trying to make my own magic happen. They turn it into a WWE Smackdown. Mission: Must kill the possum.

But I finally got him crated, loaded in the back of my truck - awaiting daylight for my free.99 express relocation service the next day. Sleep well, Jeff.

Did I mention it was 10:30 PM and pitch black when this went down. Dogs screaming, adrenaline pumping. Me in pajamas making life choices. Chaos level: Unwell. Yes, unwell........because.....

In a moment of poor judgement (sleep brain is real), I allowed Theo (5 lbs of delusion), Char (his equally unqualified assistant) and Sugar (high-pitch nonstop aggressive barking because she thinks that's the answer) to join the mission.

They contributed nothing except drama. Theo thought he was in charge. Char said, "I support this bad decision" and Sugar gave me a headache.

Sorry not sorry about the bloody lip, Jeff.

Char was all in and took her job 
as wingman very seriously

Well, Char got bit by Jeff because Jeff don't play. Theo was either grazed by sharp possum teeth - or scratched by possum claws - who really knows in the madness of it all. The Littles: Zero Stars, Would Not Recommend.

Oddly, he was not pleased with my dropoff 
location choice. I thought it was quite nice.

Bye Jeff. Hello Junior. Because of course there's another one.

Me: Not again
Universe: Again

Not even 48 hours later. Same barn. Same cat food. Same nonsense.

It's about right now your saying to yourself, can't she do something about that cat food in the barn?! Why yes I can - and have since done so. But that's a later story.

For now, I gotta get Junior. Another night, another repeat of that-certain-bark barking episode telling me that's somethings going down in the barn. This time, I came prepared. No Littles. Just me, my tools, and a late-night idea that felt brilliant at the time. 

I get to the barn and Penny and Dutch have Junior trapped behind the wheelbarrow. Perfect, I tell them, as I go to get the crate, shovel and scrapper. (aka my tools).  This time though......I do something different. I do the Plastic Bin Maneuver. I notice a plastic bin nearby (that was empty of feed) and suddenly decided to use it as a trap. I finagled Junior from behind the wheelbarrow and BOOM put the plastic bin over him, holding it down firmly so he doesn't get away. 

Now, what to do....huuuummm....oh I know, I'll make a little guardrail action with my chicken feeder - and the bin of chicken scratch - so that when I begin to open up the upside down plastic bin, Junior is forced to straight - right into the crate. Sounds good, right?!

So it's hard to tell, but Junior does go straight into the crate and then straight back into the bin because Penny and Dutch scared the hell out of him and the bin somehow seemed safer. So I use the scrapper (because it has a nice flat end to it just the right size to corral small predators) and force him into the crate. Possums are strong. He was fighting me the whole time and then I shove him in the crate with my scrapper and shut the door real fast. Whew! It was not graceful.

Me

Now to do my usual thing of taking the crate to my truck and let him sleep there until it's relocation time in the morning. 

The video is only 7 seconds long, but if you look close, you can see Junior climbing the cage like Spider-Man once I get him in it. He was Spider-Man the whole time I was trying to get him across the pasture and load the crate in the truck. It's hard to load the crate up into the bed of the truck and not get bit when he's climbing everywhere in the crate. He did make it a little more challenging not because of his size (he's small) but because of his agility. 10/10 for climbing skills. 0/10 for house manners.

Junior Junior Junior, what sharp
teeth (and claws!) you have

Yeah, you already showed me your
climbing skills.

Moral of the story: PUT. THE. CAT. FOOD. UP. 

Possums are nocturnal creatures and can smell cat food from another zip code. Funny how I've lived here a year now and had no problems with possums until recently. Sorry Kitty, Cricket and June Bug, you can only eat during the day now. 

Just for the record, I now use a bungee cord to secure the cat food can like I'm securing cargo for a hurricane. Possums basically have fingers to open it. The have actual little HANDS. If they would have just shut the lid, I might not have noticed they had been there. Penny and Dutch would probably notice - unless they have bigger fish to fry. 

Another note-worthy possum fun fact is that you'll need to rehome them at least 5 miles away - or they'll likely come back. Yeppers, I've thought about shooting them with my shot gun. I just haven't yet but maybe I will. For some reason, I find it less guilt consuming to shoot a snake and oddly very satisfying. Possums are disgusting, but snakes are the worse - in my book. I'll shoot a snake in a hot minute. Lucky for me, the snakes are just waking up from their long winters nap and not readily out and about. Too cold for their cold bloodied bodies I guess. But guess what......I'm ready for you. 

2 Things

First, let's talk Dora.

Not pleased

So as I'm busy living my life, I accidentally let Dora graze a little too long on the sweet green grass in the back pasture. Silly me. Dora said, "Great, I'll just almost founder real quick." 

Cue the panic. Granted, I know better. I've had Dora and Hope for many years now and watch to make sure I take them off green grass ASAP. But no, I'm diddling around and not paying attention when I notice her walking slow. Then she's laying down. Hum. That's odd. Then it hits me. She's trying to founder. 

So I call Kevin, my neighbor who has mini's, who turns out has had this same thing happen to his. He told me what to do and gave me his vet's phone number to also call. Way to save the day, Kev! 

And while on the phone with Kevin, he happens to mention if I know anybody selling a mini donkey because his wife really wants one. I freeze. What do I say? I felt like the Grinch when he says, "No, Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes. Definitely not. Alright, Ive made my decision. I'm saying yes. Ah, I had my fingers crossed."

Kevin knows I have mini donkeys because he saw them when he came to shred (mow down) my back pasture last year. Which he did a fabulous job in the back pasture. Thank you, Kevin.

So I tell him I might have one available (Emerald) but that I'd need to talk to my daughter about this. And also, gave full disclosure regarding Emmie's idiosyncrasies including some of the following (not a complete list) tendency to bite, step on toes intentionally, and wants all the attention and will do whatever it takes to get it. Kevin says, "That's okay, some of our mini horses are like that, too." I am unsure about this, but okay,

Emmie is a tough lil donkey to have. I actually have to halter her when visitors come over because of her unwelcoming behaviors. So I do indeed talk to Lauren (who's experienced Emmie and her ways) and Lauren says okay to giving her to Kevin and his wife - who only leave 1.5 miles from me. When Kevin comes over, he drives his tractor from his house to my house. It's that close.

I'm still in ER Farm Mode regarding Dora through all this. So I call the vet who tells me to pen up Dora, feed her only hay, give her pain medications and plenty of water. I do exactly as directed. 

Dora did great penned up and in 'isolation' 

I created this temporary holding pen for Dora by using some of my portable fencing in the goats pen/area. I choose this location because I wanted to make sure Dora had overhead coverage and this was the best option. You know me, always moving fencing. 

And of course, Hope got upset that Dora was out of their regular area and she let me know about it. Running around in a panic and neighing with anxiety, so I let Hope stay in the goat pen so she could be close to Dora. Hope is a great friend and stood by her bestie as she recovered.

And Dora recovered within a week. Luckily, I was able to catch it early, and things did not get really bad for her. But no more sweet, green grass for her. She's on hay and feed - as I've always done when Spring arrives. That's what I get for not paying close enough attention - a healthy reminder to take them off the green grass in the Spring. Noted. Hay only, no salad bar. 

Second, let's talk Emmie.

After I called Kevin back to let him know I have approval to gift his wife her desired lil mini donkey, he was VERY excited. He asked to come over that next evening so that they could see her and meet her. Kevin was so cute, he had told his wife, Crystal that he wanted to take her somewhere for a surprise. Little did Crystal know she was coming to my place to look at a mini donkey. I had told Kevin I would have a purple halter on Emmie so he could tell his wife which one was the one. 

They bounced out of their truck when they arrived, as Crystal was still not sure why she's at a neighbors farm. Then.....Kevin surprised her with the news with the offer of Emerald, the one in the purple halter.

Crystal was so surprised and immediately said, "I've been wanting a mini donkey!!" and could not get to her fast enough. It was love at first site for the both of them. Crystal came with apple treats in her pockets. The love affair begun. She asked if she could come get her the next evening. I swallowed hard.

It all happened so fast. Dora wasn't even recovered yet, that's how fast it went from 'I think I might have'.....to 'Yes I want'. I really didn't think she'd want Emmie because she's a hot mess express - but Crystal leaned into all Emmie's nuances of biting, nibbling her clothes, pushing her around and stepping on her feet. They were meant to be  🫏 💕

I had warned them I would cry when they took Emerald, and I did. The next afternoon - as soon as I got home from work - they drove over to get her straightaway. Crystal was giddy. Emmie was unsure now as it wasn't fun and games in her safe place anymore. And getting Emmie away from her mama, Pippa, was tough. Separating mama and baby was the most heartbreaking and gut wrenching thing that's happened on the farm in a long time. I even had to put another chain and lock on the gate because Pippa was trying to break it down to get to Emmie. Ugh. I cried. They drove away. Pippa cried and cried, with noises I've never heard her make before. Her heart was broken and she was telling the world. 

Sad Me

Emmie was 1 1/2 years old when she left that day in the trailer taking her to a new world with new friends. Weaned, yes. A mama's girl. Yes. Would she be loved by Crystal? Absolutely, a hard yes. Would she have new friends? 

They don't know it yet, but 
you'll be chasing them soon 😉

Yes, lots of miniature horses to befriend and play with. It was the hardest right thing to do. 

And now, Pippa can rest. She's old. So is Poppy. They are old donkeys, Poppy with very few teeth left. Poppy and Pippa are the bestest of best friends - and are back to the good ole days of cleaning each other, laying with each other and being in a more peaceful state of life with the wild and crazy lil girl gone. It took a couple of days, but Pippa settled nicely. She's back to the lazy donkey daze that she had before she had her wild child.

My heart has also settled into a place of peace for Poppy and Pippa - and Emmie as well. Emmie needs young, playful friends. And Crystal doesn't work and plays with all her 'babies' (mini's) outside - a lot of the day. I was afraid of two things: 1) Crystal would just let Emmie live in her house and Kevin would forever be mad at me, or 2) Crystal was going to call me and say she's bringing Emmie back because she's "too much". It could really go either way, honestly. I've received no call yet.

Dora is back in action and with her bestie, Hope. Poppy and Pippa are content and living their retired life. I'm happy for all of them. But there was something I would need to do......

I would need to move fencing around (surprise surprise) so that the availability of green grass is very limited (until summer comes) for Dora and Hope.

  

Moving fencing, taking t-post out, and putting them back in, in a way, keeps me strong. 

Super-Model-Hair Me after
fencing all day

I actually had my appt with MD Anderson on Friday and my oncologist gave me a A++. He said those words. He also said I looked like I was in my forties and not sixties, so I'm not sure what weight I give his words. But I'll take the A++ and tell you this: I won't always be that. And the fact my oncologist at MDA is happy for me, and happy when he gets to tell a cancer patient that things are good right now (his words also) is truly a gift. I was so emotional that day, knowing that in this moment, I'm okay. I'll take all the days like this that God gives me. My heart is full. I drove back home from Houston in disbelief that life is so good. So good that it makes me cry sometimes. My cancer is a progressive cancer and there's no stopping it. I just hope it's slow as a turtle, knowing full well that turtle wins the race. Slow and steady. I'm here for it. Now what fence do I want to move next.....

Foster Love 

My newest set of foster kittens

Welcome Lil Orange, Big Orange and Boots (thank you, Brooks for the awesome names!). These are three lil kittens who lost their mittens  mama and have upper respiratory infections, wonky and infected eyes, each in a temporary wink. They are considered 'medical kittens' as they need medications to clear up their wonkiness. 

So each morning and evening, I give a small syringe of nutritional supplement, oral (liquid) antibiotics and eye ointment which no cat loves. They see me coming and although skeptical, they allow me to administer their meds very well. 

They have every reason not to trust me,
yet they do 😻
That part never gets old 🙏

The Cat Room

One bedroom in the Main House is dedicated to being The Cat Room. It has everything they need such as food, water, safety, heater as needed, security cam (so I can keep my eyes on them) and lots of play toys spread around. This is their time to begin their healing journey, feel better, and learn about social interaction with humans - and dogs (with time). 

Brooks is so kind and careful with
my sweetie kitties. He holds them
like a baby and it warms my heart. 

With time, they heal, recover and feel better.
They play - and also inspect me
when I come to sit and love on them.

With time, I introduce The Littles to them. A couple at a time.

Sugar arranges their food just right. 

Theo must clean them. He can't not clean them. It's in his DNA.

Then, the email comes from the foster coordinator asking if they are feeling better, are they playing and eating? Are they over 2 lbs yet? And I know what all this means.....it's time to take them back to be spayed and altered, and to then be placed for official adoption. My heart hurts thinking about it. How much crying can a girl do? 

I set a date to return them after having them for just under 3 weeks. They have improved so much and are feeling great. They are ready.

Their eyes are no longer in a wink. 
They are no longer sneezing and sniffling.
They are 14/10 adorbs 💞

I will tell you that when I took them back, I did tear up. But the cry was pushed down with the fact that people would certainly adopt these cutie pies. They will be scooped up and find their furever home quickly. They have the cutest little personalities and are just plain sweet and loving kittens. I keep telling myself.....if I keep all the fosters, then I won't have room or energy to foster those that need a temporary safe place. Each group of fosters I get is special. Please know this.....these were more special than most. Fostering will never be easy for me. It just won't. I break my own heart a little every time......so they can have a better one somewhere else. And they will. I know it. 

Life is messy. Loud. Emotional. 

It's full of possums, heartbreak and healing and unexpected joy. 

And somehow, it's still really, really good. 

Final thoughts?

* Put your cat food up.

* Don't underestimate a possum

* Little dogs are not backup

* Letting go can be the right thing (even when it hurts like hell)

* And if life gives you chaos, grab a shovel and a crate

Choo Choo 🚂

Next Stop? Whatever happens next.

Think I'll stay on the crazy train,

Cyndi

Back from Bacay

 

I took a blog-cation. Not a glamorous, passport-stamped, umbrella drink bacation. More like the "mentally wandering around in my life in sweatpants" variety. But I'm back! And apparently, I spent my time off reflecting - which is what happens when you're alone with goats and your thoughts for too long. 

For reasons unknown, I've been thinking about the people around me, the animals around me and the life around me....and how I'm still so stinkin surprised at my good fortune. So I'm jotting it down before I forget and start complaining about goat feed prices. 

Let's begin.

1. My Health

It might seem odd that this is #1, but my current health lets me build fences, go for runs, wrangle grandkiddos, shop and walk the entire store, and approximately one billion other things I absolutely refuse to take for granted. 

Being a nurse means I see, daily, how quickly life can pivot. One minute you're power-walking Target, the next minute you're the one with a broken hip, heart attack or amputation - or worse, you're the cautionary tale on Dateline. We always think it only happens to "other people". Spoiler alert: everyone thinks they're other people.

Which brings me to Exhibit A:  

Goat Pen North Expansion, Phase 2.0

South Side - because turns out, I am a Fencerwomen
and Farm Project Manager 

Sadly, these photos do not depict the true blood, sweat and fears that has been poured into the multi-phase Goat Pen expansion I've coined as Janky Town. 

Phase 1.0 Completed a few months back - yep, built my first fence ever

Phase 1.5 Bush clearing, bush craft (that ones for you, Lauren) and clean up

Phase 2.0 More fencing placed because I can. 

Listen. I know it looks like a hot mess. But pounding in T-posts? That does something to a women's soul. It's primal. It's empowering. It's "I will build this fortress myself and also probably need ibuprofen."

Add in the fact my very own body allows me to do this.   ** ring the gratitude bell here please. 

I enjoyed clearing out brush, bushes, and those weird thorn plants that seem to be made of heavy-duty rubber - all to clear an additional area for Coco and Pearl to enjoy bark from trees, leaves off the ground, tasty forbs and critique my landscape choices. I'm basically a goat real estate developer.

Also though, I'm doing this with selfish reasons knowing full well those goats will clear the ground of weeds, leaves and other plant material that other animals would not eat. This is in addition to the area I had fenced for them a few months back to enjoy fresh yummy green grass. It's almost like I'm creating a habitat for them that I would want if I was a goat. I mean, why not. 

Phase 2.5 was completed yesterday, which included the setup of the official bedroom suite for my girlies. 

Coco said no visitors in her bedroom

Making sure you understood her

That's better

In the words of Snoop Dog, I'd like to thank myself. Specifically, my body - which keeps showing up for the assignments I give. That is not something I take lightly. 

Because I am able-bodied, my two sweet goats are enjoying and exploring new taste and space. And yes, I'm fully aware that agricultural experts would say they don't need this much space. But those experts have not met Coco and Pearl. They deserve all the tree branches to nibble on, all the limbs and tree trunks to taste, and to crunch leaves. Don't you worry, I goat this. 

Please hold while I stretch. Phase 3.0 of expansion coming soon.

Me: Contemplating ideas

2. Connection 

This makes me smile: Friends and family.

My favorite super hero

My favorite donkey groomer

The bestest boy

Olive and Brooks are pure magic. Lauren and her husband, Ryan are almost as fun as their kids. Almost. Let's be honest, parents are professional fun-suckers. Look it up. It's in the job description.

I am deeply grateful for the secure, close relationships in my life - my daughter, my sister, their families, my gracious, beautiful friends, and my parents, who I appreciate more with every passing year. Aging has given me the gift of understanding them in ways I couldn't before.

The real miracle? We don't just love each other because we're related. We actually like each other. That feels rare. And sacred.

Even my doggos remind me what community looks like.
They squabble. They side-eye. But at the end of the day?
Furever family.

So much of who I am is due to staying grounded with my amazing family and friends. They are key in my life - as I'm sure yours are as well. The connections we have are so important. I recently had a sweet friend over to the farm and our conversation(s) reminded me just how much connection strengthens us with one another. Esp when we allow ourselves to lean into hard topics, be vulnerable with one another and allow others to see us as we truly are - and not a narrative we create. No pretending, no superficial being - instead, taking our masks off to reveal our true selves to those who love and support us the most. To see and hear others - and be seen and heard. That's where the magic lives. Whether it's at work, at home, my C3-ers, or with family - connection fills my soul cup up. To the brim.

3. Feathers and Fur

Oh, my heart. 

Never a dull moment.

It's the one blue eye that makes my heart sing

I did recently take my 4 rottie foster pups back to HSNT so they could be 'altered' (neutered and spayed) so that they would be eligible for adoption. It's hard - every time - to let them go. Some more than others, but overall, it's either tears for me - or glassy eyes. I was to receive my next foster this past weekend, Colton, a 3 year old, 70 lb black lab who is heart worm positive. I was to take him and care for him during his heart worm treatment, but the day prior to getting him, I received an email. Turns out Colton got into an "altercation" with another dog during play group time and HSNT reached out to me to let me know he may be too reactive for a placement with me due to my dogs. 

Translation: Not a fit for your zoo. Fair enough.

As I've worked on personal growth and healing these last couple of years, I've noticed that this also pours into being a more-informed foster pawent. These animals may come to me with past trauma, past homelessness, or an untrusting nature due to their own backgrounds and experiences. And to be blessed with a foster animal(s) that may cultivate mutual growth opportunity, has provided me the ability to self-reflect on how best to care for them. What do they need in this moment? Safety? Food and shelter? Are they open to love and touch? Are their walls up - and how high? And then my own self-reflection brings a lump to my throat and eyes that well up. Is my heart open? And the realization that this foster experience is helping my own heart learn to open and trust again can feel overwhelming. And in these moments, there is a mutual feeling of  'I got you". We do, we got each other. 

And since I'm on some kind of self-reflection train, I tilt my head a little, and realize just how much I've gotten in a groove with all my animals. 

The barn runs like a well-rehearsed musical.  Everyone knows when it's time to eat, where to go, where not to go. Everyone puts themselves to bed in the barn and they all have shelter from the outside elements. We all work together to try and stay in sync, with minimal diversion from the routine, i.e food supply. Otherwise, the donkeys hee-haw like we're under attack and the goats file a formal complaint.  

Chicken bedroom

Places everyone

Attitude when
routine is interrupted

Freedom in the back pasture is 
always welcome

Cat Land and feed time
l to r, June Bug, Cricket and Kitty

The barn cats handle mice patrol and snake surveillance. Hugs and kisses are always free. They have a place set up just for them, with heat lamps and bed warmers when need be. 

Paul is my rock at the barn. He loves me in a way
no other fowl has ever loved me - enthusiastically and 
slightly judgmentally. Always happy 
to see me and not because I'm the Treat Lady.

15 next month! Maybe, you look fabulous! 

Lil Pixie Pie is fully recovered and 
although has no eyes, she sees me
better than most humans.

Me:  IYKYK

Every morning, my inner child wakes up thrilled. I get to go greet my flock, my herd, my loves. Hug them. Feed them. Care for them. 

It doesn't get better than this: Health, human connection and a barn full of personalities. 

Yes, I am that lady. 

And this train? It doesn't run forever. 

But I will ride it to the end of the tracks - hands up, wind in my face, grateful for every single mile. 

With a full heart, 

Cyndi

My life?

Came out of the back door to find a possum all cozied up on a dog bed. Probably preparing for the rain to come, and picked out a fav spot ahead of time. Smart. 

So the possum rodeo began with me and the doggos. I won. 

Susie Q here will not be home for dinner 
with the fam tonight

It's now rehomed to a place off the side of the road on my way to work. 

Yes, I was late to work. 

Yes, possum can be opossum, too. Either way, they are stinky creatures.

Bacation

 

Hello friends, long time no write! 

While Olive has been on bacation with her family, apparently I have too - from my blog. I’ll give you the scoopie poop soon! 

See you back here later this week ❤️

Cyndi

Survivorship

As I was enjoying my most recent copy of Brighter (a magazine for women affected by cancer) I stumbled across an article by Lauren Candies Tarpley, a breast cancer survivor. Her piece, The Mental Game of Survivorship celebrates her hard-fought road to remission. She is now 5 years out from her diagnosis-day and reflects on what life feels like to go from Lauren, to Cancer Lauren, and then - slowly - trying to find her way back to just.....Lauren.

And there it was. Me. Right there on the page. I, too, was once Cyndi. Then I became Cancer Cyndi. The difference is - unlike Lauren - my cancer won't ever fully let me unbecome Cancer Cyndi. So instead of focusing on survivorship as a finish line, I've had to reshape that idea into something longer, messier, and more real: surviving while living with cancer.

This is a story of how I went from being me....

to polycythemia vera....

and now also, myelofibrosis (MF -1)

Turns out, just like ultrarunning, cancer is not primarily a physical game. Not surprisingly, it's a mental one too.

I've known this about ultra running for a long time. Your mind will absolutely lie to you. It will say, "You're done. You can't go another step." And your job is to say, "Cute option" - and keep going until you fall down, throw up or get heat stroke. Sounds fair, right? The body gets the final say only when you stop listening to the drama coming from your brain.

Then cancer entered the chat. 

Suddenly the question became: who's in charge now? 

My body or my mind?

Cyndi....or Cancer Cyndi. 

The lines blur real fast, my friends. 

Before all this, Cyndi used to think she'll live forever - like most human beings think. We causally ignore the looming reality of death because honestly, it really improves the vibe. It makes life feel infinite, and that's a wonderful way to live - even though the only guaranteed thing about being born is that we will, in fact, die.

And then an oncologist ruins your day. 

I remember my diagnosis-day as it's forever etched in my memory, filed under "Shocking News". So here's my unsolicited advice to anyone newly diagnosed.

Sit with it for about 30 days. Process it. Stay as calm as possible, because clarity does not visit chaos. Share your story only with people who can hold it gently - who will protect it, not poke at it. When you're ready, tell the ones who've earned the right to know. Not everyone gets access to your most sacred, fragile truth. 

I learned the hard way that when we hand our tender stories to people who do not know how to hold them, they drop them. Or stare awkwardly. Or are not our people for our story. Not everyone is. 

Anyway. Cyndi transitioned to Cancer Cyndi - and that in itself brings difficult and beautiful life lessons with it. 

Brutiful (Brutal and Beautiful) life lessons

From the beginning, I knew 2 things:

1. Cancer would not define me.

2. Pity would not be invited into my story.

And yet, pity shows up anyway. You can see it bloom in people's eyes the moment you tell them you have an incurable cancer. I get it. It's instinctual. You've just become a walking reminding of everyone's worse fear. Suddenly, you've been relocated - by others - into a strange corner of the universe : the place where people actually die. 

I used to say things like, yeah but it's treatable for a period of time or I'm told I have some time. But now, I realize I don't know anything more than anybody else does about the ultimate prognosis. And my oncologists are noncommittal at the most. Nobody truly knows. 

That's how you go from Cyndi to Cancer Cyndi - when you tell others and let the cat out of the bag. It's part of the gig. But here's the good news. When you tell the right people - the ones who love you, hug you, check on you, and laugh with you - you're still just Cyndi. I'm Cancer Cyndi when I speak of my labs, treatment and/or updates to them. Otherwise. Just Cyndi. Always.

Cancer has taught me that people have an extraordinary capacity for grace. We don't always know what to say. I don't always know what to say. We don't always get it right. But most people are doing the best they can with the tools they have. And this - this understanding - might be my greatest takeaway. 

We are all carrying something.  

If I can sit with someone in their pain without hijacking their story....if I can shine a little light when theirs is dim....that's when I quietly thank cancer for the lesson. Cancer Cyndi shows up in those moments - not to lead, but sit beside. Sometimes cancer brings gifts wrapped in terrible packaging. 

Living with blood cancer means redefining "normal". For me, it's been baby steps. What is my 'now' normal? Yes, the treatment is not kind to a body. Accepting that my fingernails may not survive. Managing the urge to hide my hands. Fighting imposter syndrome. It's a mental game of reminding myself that this journey is not linear. It's messy, bone-aching - and sometimes I don't even recognize myself in it. And still - my mind protects me in ways I can't see. When things don't make sense, it's my mental game that carries me through. The mental muscle I work on every single day. That's when I stay rooted in Cyndi....and let Cancer Cyndi ride in the backseat. She's allowed to come along - she just doesn't drive. 

Time has a way of softening sharp edges. I don't let the hard days win - though some days they definitely try. And I'll say this: I've lived a beautiful life. A full one. And however many days or years I have left, I'll take them with grace - and just enough chaos to keep things interesting. 

I want to dance in the barn. Channel bad bitch energy. Chase my feral little dogs. And buy more chickens. And guess what? I can. 

I may never shed the label of Cancer Cyndi - but I'm okay being both. She reminds me that life isn't infinite....and that I should absolutely buy those chickens. 

And keep my mental edge sharp.

Side Note: Cancer Disneyland 🎢 

Cancer Cyndi heads back to MD Anderson in March. Texas Oncology has been dropping phrases like "your numbers look good" and "your treatment is keeping you stable". Who knows....I may stay in Myelofibrosis-1/MF-1 (bone marrow failure) for a undetermined period of time (MF-2 is stem cell transplant go-time). And right now? This is my sweet spot. I'm in it. I know I'm in it. And it feels really, really good. 

Pixie Pie 🐾

Someone else is living their sweet-spot era - Pixie.

Snuggle bugs
And like me, her wounds are still healing 

While Pix had her left eye removed recently (her right eye exited the chat earlier) she and Cricket stayed at the main house tucked away safe and sound so her stitches could heal properly without a WWE-smackdown dog style. And now BOOM - they are back home in my little cabin and I'm beyond happy! I missed them so much, and so did Theo (well, Olive calls him Peo but that's a different story). 

Pixie is no longer in a permanent wink 😉 Granted, she could not see out of that left eye anyway, but once it started going sideways, it was time. She's now rocking a permanent eye close look 😌  

Peo Theo and Pixie have developed a special relationship which involves self care. Isn't it sweet?

Well, until it gets rough - and it does. Their love is but a prickly pear......sweet - and thorny tough. 

But really, I think she feels better with her eyes removed. Less pain, less issues with eyes she can't protect. Plus, she's come out of her shell and runs around here (and into things) like she has not a care in the world. Her eyes were so terrible - and I'm glad she's rid of them. My lil Pixie Pie sleeps with us.....right next to Theo, of course. 

Blue, and also Blue, and Blue, and Blue

I've taken in my next foster crew: four Rottie-mix puppies 

Me: But can I do this

Yes, 4 rottweiler-mix puppies who were recently weaned from their mama. My assignment? Keep them safe, happy, alive, and fed while they grow of age to be spayed/neutered so that they then may be adopted. Foster folks such as myself give these animals a chance to get out of the shelter (while they need more time to age into 'altering' age) and receive attention and socialization that will hopefully benefit them when it comes time to putting their best paw forward for an adoption. 

Fur-nado Factor over here

One of them were named Blue, as he has one blue eye and one brown eye. Turns out, 2 of the puppies do! One has their blue eye in the right eye, and the other in their left eye. 

Blue

And Blue

When Brooks was here, he decided to name them all blue - and I get that. They are like little ants running around here and it's hard to tell who's who. So now.....they are all Blue. Honestly? Fair. 

Residence in the shed 

Their own little AirBnB with a tiny yard, a doggie door,
and two heaters and heat lamps for comfort

I've had them for a couple of weeks (2?  3?) Time has lost all meaning. All I know is it's time for them to return on Tuesday, and I don't even know if I can get out of my property with all this snow and ice. So we'll see if they go back or not? They are all scheduled for surgery that day 🙀 Weather-permitting.

Me: Driving them to Fort Worth
in a tractor if I have to

These pups are officially twice as big as they started and ready to go find their furever families. But can I get them there? First up, corralling them be like herding cats. And add in this weather......pray for me.

Yep, Me

So this weather....

Why? Just....why?

My chickens hate it. My donkeys are unimpressed. The goats are surviving on grit and side-eye. 

Everyone has heated water, shelter and plenty of food - but unless you're in a heated barn, this is just rude. We'll get through it. All of us. Humans and animals alike. 

But also - can it please stop now?

I'm done talking about it. Someone make it go away. 

Penny and Dutch are the only fans of this nonsense

The sun will come out, tomorrow....

Cyndi

These bada$$ security doggos turn 5 this coming Sept.
They are the literal BEST.